Queen of the Eight Banners

Part 3, Scene 3 - Past

It did not take long to ready her horse. Jurchen shifted her weight, anxious and eager as Ilha swung astride. She slipped her bow into its saddle sheath and took up Jurchen's reins. Urging her mare into a canter, she weaved easily between the two rows of tents that made the circumference of the camp then waited on the field to watch her horsewomen line up.  Four plain Banners, four banded Banners: yellow North, white East, red West, blue South.  Each horsewomen wore the colors of her Banner, and it was an inspiring sight to behold.  Ten thousand strong.

Dorgide would be proud to see how swiftly they assembled, colors organizing themselves like rippling winds across the steppes.

Peace.  All she had ever wanted was peace, and they'd had a measure of it before the Gui Rebellion.  Had he been too ambitious to believe he could defeat the Gui rebels, restore order to the Gui Imperials then make a bid for peace with his father's enemies?  Had she been foolish to believe he could do it, to encourage him despite her misgivings about involving themselves in Imperial affairs?  She'd been reluctant to touch the Gui, had remained behind to oversee and protect their camp instead. 

Or had it been the memory of Ligdan's sightless eyes that had stayed her. Or the fury and despair of his wife whom she'd widowed? 

Would he be alive, even now, if she had gone with him? If she had fought at his side?

Ilha grit her teeth against the sudden sting in her eyes and heart.  She turned Jurchen to face southwest, the direction that would carry them to the Imperial City. When her senses told her the colors had solidified, taken mass and shape with geomancy like a cape furling out behind her, she pumped her fist into the sky and urged her mare into a run.

Just for this moment, she wanted the exhilaration of the wind ripping past her face, whipping back her hair and clothes.  She wanted to feel the pounding of her heart and the rhythm of Jurchen's hooves beneath her. Speed, the jolt of initial acceleration. To pretend for this moment that if they galloped fast enough, they could still make it in time to save him, to give him another chance to see his dream unfurl like a banner above him--

But within moments, she knew: he was gone. He was gone, and she would only tire out the horses. She raised her fist again and slowed them to a trot, then she gestured for her lieutenants to approach to discuss strategy.